


Fallen From Grace

by PuddinPop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Common Cold, Concerned Sam, Dean Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Castiel, Sickfic, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddinPop/pseuds/PuddinPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is finding it difficult adjusting to becoming human - this unsuspecting now-mortal has caught his first cold and is trying to come to terms with losing his celestial abilities, dealing with emotions and now becoming sick. </p><p>Caretaking!Dean, Sick!Castiel, Worried!Sam all ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen From Grace

It had been three days now. Three days of icy rain pelting down in sheets, blackened clouds huddling over the towns and cities, making the hours of daylight short lived and bleak.  
  
There was no one on the streets. Warm glows emitted from each building, no one being foolish enough to venture outside. The sleepy town was silent; no traffic noise, no children screaming or playing. The only sounds that could be heard were the rushing of water that poured down the streets in rivers and the wind which whipped unmercifully around the trees. However, these wintry sounds were interrupted by the occasional:  
  
_"Ihh- **TSCH** uu!"_  
  
One single figure was huddled amongst the trees, unmoving. Castiel felt the bitter winds piercing through his skin, tinting his cheeks, nose and the tips of his ears pink, his fingers having lost all sensation long ago, his vessel racked with the incessant need to shiver in an attempt to increase the core temperature. The rain had soaked through the clothes he was wearing, meaning that each blast of icy air shook him through to his bones. Water trickled from his hair down his forehead, some rivulets dripping to the floor from above his eyes, some dripping from the end of his nose. The occasional drip ran down his neck and continued down his spine, causing the shivers to momentarily increase. It had taken him three days to admit to himself that he was miserable, the most pitiful of all human emotion.  
  
The three days since he was cut off from Heaven had felt like an eternity. His Grace was gone, stolen by Metatron, and without it, he was powerless; an angel trapped inside his vessel. His celestial powers had diminished, and he could not fathom what was happening to him. It begun almost instantaneously with thirst, which at the time he did not understand, nor did he know what to do to alleviate the feeling. It had taken Castiel hours to find Sam and Dean; being unable to zap himself across the country had proved inconvenient. This uncomfortable feeling in his mouth was getting more severe, becoming truly perplexing to him, and when he finally made it to the Winchesters, he was barely able to speak. He had been given water and found that when he started drinking, he was unable to stop himself until the glass was emptied. Water had spilled from the sides of his mouth down his front, the last lingering threads of his dignity dwindling. It had taken the three men much deliberation, many tests and a lot of questioning, but they eventually concluded that Castiel was indeed now mortal. Shortly following this realisation was something else which Cas didn't appreciate; a multitude of emotions. Fear, anxiety, sadness and sorrow rattled around his vessel relentlessly. He did not understand these at the time, but he recognised that they made him uncomfortable, and he had to do something to either improve or eradicate them. Shortly after this epiphany, Castiel had left the Winchesters in the middle of the night, and had spent the time alone trying to find a way to regain his celestial powers.  
  
He had spent the days away from Sam and Dean wandering across the State in the worst storm of the year so far, searching for any clues about how to possess Grace. Despite his powers being all but gone, he was still able to hear the angels speak, and he had overheard a conversation regarding his Grace; Metatron planned to use it to eradicate all angels from Heaven, and Castiel would “burn out” along with his Grace unless he managed to get ahold of some more. With each passing moment, he could feel himself becoming weaker and weaker – more human.  
  
He had it under good authority that Sam and Dean were staying in the motel that lurched before him; he occasionally heard prayers from Dean, begging him to return, to inform them that he was still alive. Yet, he had not been able to bring himself to face them; he was just beginning to come to terms with emotions, and humiliation was not something which he intended to add to his increasing list of feelings. He occasionally stopped to wonder how the human form could fit so many feelings into such a small, simple being. However, he needed their help. He could not do this alone, especially in his present condition. Dean had trusted Cas with his life on numerous occasions before, and now seemed like as good a time as any to return that trust.  
  
As Castiel stood motionless before the dilapidated motel, his arms hanging limply by his sides and water cascading down his vessel, he felt one drop run from his forehead down the length of his nose, causing it to tickle momentarily before swelling into an unbearable itch. Too weak to even move his arms, he simply turned his head to the side as his body was convulsed violently.  
  
_"Hh'hih **TCH** uu! Iih'tsh **CHUH** hh!"_  
  
He knew he was meant to smother his face with his hand when this happened; he had seen the Winchesters do it numerous times, but as well as being in a weakened condition, he was still adjusting to being human. A series of sniffles shortly followed the sneezes as Castiel was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe through his nose. He had never experienced his vessel reacting in such a way before; the monstrous tickle that invaded his nose and sinuses, shortly followed by a violent expulsion of air from his lungs. As he contemplated what was happening to his vessel, he noticed his legs were gradually becoming weakened, making it more difficult for him to remain standing and his cheeks and forehead were emitting an unusual warmth despite the rest of his body being racked with chills. He had seen the Winchesters' bodies suffering with similar issues before – they had called it a cold, but he had never paid it much attention. Being an Angel of the Lord, he made the assumption that he was immune to such ailments. Never did he think that standing in the rain – such a mundane activity – would cause his vessel to malfunction so severely. He almost snorted at the utter weaknesses that humans portrayed, before the realization that not only was he to appear before Sam and Dean in a weakened, humane state, but he now had to contend with a growing sickness invading his vessel. After a moment of deliberation, he realized he had no choice if he were to regain his powers. Sighing heavily, Castiel made his way towards the entrance of the Winchesters’ room. As he approached their door, a burning itch spread throughout his nose, causing his eyes to roll back in his head and he uttered a shaky sigh before burying his face in the crook of his elbow.  
  
_“Ehh’ **TSH** uhh! Hh’ **CSHH** hh!”_  
  
He swiped the back of his wrist under his nose, sniffing miserably as his head began spinning slightly. He knocked on the door, and the look on Dean’s face when the door was swung open made his heart sink to his stomach. 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this some time last year and never got around to finishing it. I thought posting it here would give me motivation to write more... who knows, we shall see.


End file.
